


Take These Broken Wings

by ExyEimi (Siyah_Kedi)



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Alternate Universe, Any suggestions?, Eimi can't tag, M/M, Magical Realism, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Soulmates, Spiritual bond, Still working on these tags y'all, Urban Fantasy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-25
Updated: 2018-03-28
Packaged: 2019-04-07 22:50:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14091429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Siyah_Kedi/pseuds/ExyEimi
Summary: Neil is a teleporter on the run. Andrew can hear the lies in someone's voice. A chance encounter as children has bound them together in a dark world of magic and monsters.





	1. Fluttering Warmth

The flash of light was unusual, but Andrew was getting used to unusual things.  He’d been in this house for three weeks, and his new foster father was saying things that made him uncomfortable, but he couldn’t hear anything untrue in the words.  It made him wonder if he should tell his teacher – they’d had an officer in class last Friday who was explaining complicated things like  _ abuse  _ and  _ harassment _ , which Andrew was already familiar with from some of his books – but he wasn’t sure if everyone could hear truth or if it was just him.  The concept of gifts was next week’s lesson, but Andrew had already read about that, too. He was only in second grade, but his teacher spoke excitedly about things like ‘9 th grade reading level’ and ‘eidetic memory.’  Andrew peered curiously over the edge of his loft-bed when he heard something shuffling around in his room.  It was too big to be one of the cats, but he hadn’t heard the door open, and there was that weird light. 

The noise was coming from a boy.  In his room in the middle of the night.  

“Who are you?” asked Andrew.  The strange boy straightened up and turned around slowly.  He didn’t look much older than Andrew. He wore a strange expression, and Andrew couldn’t figure out how he’d gotten in.  

“Oh!  Someone’s here.”  

It wasn’t an answer, and it wasn’t a question, either, so Andrew said nothing, watching him curiously.  The boy smiled up at him. It looked friendly. 

“Will you come down here?” 

Andrew considered this, then nodded and slid himself down the ladder.  He was slightly taller than the strange boy, which made him feel important – he was the shortest kid in his class – and thicker, too.  The boy looked like those kids in the sad commercials, bony and slender from too many missed meals. “What’s your name?” 

“I’m Nathaniel,” the boy said.  “I was looking for a safe place to keep something special, but I wasn’t expecting you.”

Truth in his voice, which was interesting.  “What is it?” 

Now Nathaniel looked uncomfortable.  “Just…something special,” he hedged. Andrew could still hear the truth in his words, so he accepted it.  “How old are you?”

“I’m seven, and in the second grade,” Andrew told him.  “What about you?”

“Six years old,” Nathaniel said proudly. “And…what’s a grade?”

Andrew was thrown for a moment.  “Don’t you go to school?” 

Nathaniel shook his head.  “My dad –” he hunched suddenly, looking afraid.  “My dad prefers to homeschool me.” 

Andrew was almost jealous.  Homeschool sounded like a lot of fun, and it would mean not having to get up so early in the morning.  He didn’t catch the bus until almost eight thirty, but his latest foster mother, Janet, made him get up with her at six.  Nathaniel cautiously stood up straighter, twisting his hands together. 

“I’m running out of time,” he said, oddly.  “Will you keep my secret?” 

Andrew considered this too.  “What do you want for it?” 

“Nothing,” Nathaniel said, frowning.  “What do  _ you _ want for it?” 

“Nothing,” Andrew told him.  “I guess I’ll keep it. What is it?” 

Nathaniel stepped closer, and put his hands on Andrew’s shoulders.  “Important,” he said again. He pushed up onto his tiptoes and pressed his mouth against Andrew’s.  Andrew nearly pulled away in disgust, but something warm was flowing out of Nathaniel, something that filled the room with light.  Andrew closed his eyes and felt it settle into his chest, pulsing rapidly for a moment before settling down. “It’s my soul,” Nathaniel said seriously.  Andrew heard the truth in the words and jerked backwards. 

“ _ What? _ ” 

The hunted, scared look came over Nathaniel’s face again.  “I can’t let them have it,” he said. “So I wanted to find somewhere safe to put it.  Keep it for me,” he added, and then went for the window. A rush of cool air burst into the room as he slid it open.  “And don’t tell anyone.” 

Andrew could feel it fluttering in his chest if he concentrated.  Weariness, fear, and a hint of excitement came from it when he pushed at it.  “I won’t,” Andrew said solemnly. Nathaniel flashed a grin at him, which seemed to light up his whole face.  

“Thank you,” Nathaniel said, and shimmied out the window.  Andrew hurried over to watch him – they were on the second story – and saw that Nathaniel landed lightly on his feet and started running, disappearing in a flash of light as soon as he cleared the yard.  The whole thing felt like a dream, but he could still feel Nathaniel’s warm lips against his, his heart pounding in his chest, and that strange warmth fluttering somewhere above his stomach. Andrew watched the spot Nathaniel vanished for a few more minutes, then pulled the window closed before climbing back into the bed above his desk.  He’d just started to fall asleep when pain ricocheted through him, spiking down into his fingers and toes before fading away. Andrew bit down on his tongue to keep from crying out with it, and wondered where it had come from. The warmth in his chest shrank, and became cold. Andrew shivered, pulled his blankets over his head, and thought about Nathaniel.  


	2. Speared

At thirteen, Andrew was stocky and short, and pretty sure he was done growing.  He hated being short, having to look up to everyone, but especially Drake. Cass seemed blissfully unaware of her son’s proclivities, and Andrew was counting down the days until Drake joined the Marines and went away for good.  Sprawled out on his bed with his sketchbook, Andrew doodled  _ Andrew Joseph Spear _ and thought about what it would be like to have a home at last.  He was adding a shadow to the letters of his soon-to-be name when a knock at the door startled him.  Drake never knocked, and Richard barely acknowledged him when he was home, so Andrew figured it was probably Cass.  He wondered if he should call her mom, and how she would feel about it. 

“Come in,” he said.  Cass opened his door and held out a letter.  

“This came for you,” she said, and Andrew pushed himself up to accept it.  “Lasagna okay tonight?” 

Andrew hid his scowl.  Lasagna meant Drake was coming home tonight, which meant Andrew would have to leave his door unlocked or get himself into trouble.  “Sounds great,” he said, and heard the lie in his own voice. The letter was from Aaron Minyard, who lived a couple counties over, according to the address in the corner, and Andrew wondered why the hell someone would be sending  _ him _ a letter.  Then he remembered doing pen-pals in seventh grade, and wondered if it was some kid who’d picked his name out of a hat or something. Cass left his door open when she left, and Andrew tore the envelope open.  The fluttering warmth in his chest throbbed, and Andrew absently rubbed at his shoulder. He’d mostly learned to ignore it, except when it was sending out too much  _ feeling _ – two years ago he thought it was going to disappear entirely, and then he’d been unable to sleep for nearly a week when it was sending out constant pulses of fear and pain.  His foster father at the time, Jason, had thought he was suffering from night terrors, and had nearly dragged him out to see a doctor about it before Andrew convinced him it was just the anxiety of starting at a new middle school in the middle of the year.  Then Jason had wanted to check him out for anxiety and depression, but by then the terror had stopped flowing through the warmth and Andrew managed to talk him out of it. Jason hadn’t been a bad sort, but his friend Bill had taken too much of an interest in Andrew.  When Jason found out, Andrew went back to state care. Still, that was when Cass found him, and Andrew found a new home with her. 

The letter was written in blue ink, and whoever Aaron was had horrible handwriting.  Andrew frowned at it for a long moment and then clutched at the thin paper hard enough to tear the edge as the words became clear.  

_ Hi Andrew.  My name is Aaron, and I think I’m your brother. _

A brother?  Was Aaron  _ serious _ ?  Was he in foster care, too?

_ This cop named Higgins came up to me the other day and called me Andrew.  He says I look just like you. Mom won’t tell me anything, so I got your address from Mr. Higgins and I’m writing this letter to ask you if you know anything. _ _ Mom should be calling Cassidy next week to arrange a meeting for us, see if you really are my brother.  Uh, this is awkward. I guess I’ll send you a picture next time. My email address is  _ [ _ aaronmm@cox.com _ ](mailto:aaronmm@cox.com) _ , if you want to start talking sooner.   _

_ I hope to meet you soon,  _

_ Aaron m Minyard _

Andrew stared at the letter as if he could rip the secrets out of it with his eyes.  Another knock on the door startled him, and Andrew looked up to find Cass in the hallway, watching him with concern.  

“AJ, honey, is everything okay?” 

Andrew’s throat closed up, and his eyes burned.  “I don’t know,” he said. Cass came in and settled next to him, wrapping one arm around his shoulders to pull him close to her.  She took the letter from him and read it. 

“Well, this is exciting!”  She sounded like she meant it, too.  “You don’t have to stay with me if it turns out you have your real family, right?” 

Panic shot through him like a bullet of ice.  “You don’t want me to stay?” 

“Oh, no, honey, I would love for you to stay!  But family’s important, right? This is awesome!  You have a brother!”

He couldn’t hear anything untrue in her voice, and it settled him slightly.  He would meet this Aaron, and then he would find out why the hell he’d been shuffled from house to house all his life when it seemed like there was a family of his own out there somewhere.  Then he realized Aaron might have been adopted already – that just because he had a brother, it didn’t mean he had parents, and Cass was still willing to keep him. His shoulder burned sharply, and he rubbed at it again, wondering what Nathaniel was doing to himself that he was always in pain like this.  A woozy feeling drifted through the pulsing warmth in his chest, and Andrew wondered if he could tell Cass about it before he remembered his promise.  _ Don’t tell anyone, _ Nathaniel had asked of him, and Andrew had been let down by enough people to take his own word seriously.  He was determined to be someone who could be counted on. Cass ruffled his hair and Andrew put his arms around her, squeezing her in a hug that said it for him. 

Downstairs, the front door slammed.  “I’m home!” Drake, eighteen and Andrew’s worst nightmare, was back again.  Andrew couldn’t wait for him to join the Marines and get the hell out of Andrew and Cass’s life.  He thundered up the stairs and peered into Andrew’s room, grinning sharply when he saw Cass and Andrew there.  

“Hey sweetie,” Cass said.  “How’d it go?” 

“Pretty good,” Drake said.  “I’ll know in about a week if the recruiter is serious about it for me,” he added. 

“More things to celebrate,” Cass said joyfully.  Drake raised an eyebrow curiously. “AJ might have a brother,” she explained, and waved the letter.  Drake entered the room and Andrew forcibly kept himself from flinching backwards. As Drake read over it, his lips curved into a wicked smile.  

“A brother, huh?” he said.  “Sounds like a twin, if the cop thought he was you.  Huh. Two AJs.” The smile turned into a leer. Andrew put his eyes anywhere except his foster brother, and hated everything.  

 

That night, Drake pressed him into the mattress and whispered about the things he wanted to do with Andrew and his brother.  “I’ve always wanted a matched set,” he said, and Andrew grit his teeth. The fuzzy feeling pushed out of the warmth in his chest again, following another pulse of pain in his shoulder that was almost layered on top of the pain of Drake pushing into him, hands clamped around Andrew’s wrists.  The feeling from the warmth rushed through him, like it was trying to cushion him, and Andrew wondered again what kind of person Nathaniel was, where he was, and what was doing at that moment. 

 

*

 

Stefan took another swig of the cheap whisky Tonya had gotten them as pain relief.  There was a bottle of aspirin nearby, but it would be for later, once she was done digging the bullet out of his chest.  It sure wouldn’t do him much good immediately, and the whisky had the added benefit of keeping him warm while his mother worked.  DiMaccio had nearly taken them out that time, and Stefan was grateful it hadn’t been Nathan or the Romeros. They’d been on the run for two years, and Stefan was already adding to his collection of scars.  He’d never been shot before – Nathan preferred the up-close-and-personal touch of knives, and Lola wasn’t much better – but he didn’t think he cared much for it. Tonya muttered to herself as she wrenched a length of surgical thread through the eye of the needle and snagged the whisky from him to take a long swig, herself.  

“I can do it,” Stefan offered.  Tonya scowled at him over the bottle.  

“Not when you look like that,” she said, gesturing with her chin towards his still-bleeding shoulder.  “Clean yourself up and get some bandages.” She hissed with pain as she drew the needle through her own skin, stitching closed the wound left by the bullet that had grazed her before lodging in Stefan’s collarbone.  Tonya left the slug on the ground where she’d dropped it after pulling it out of him, and Stefan was oddly tempted to pick it up and keep it as a souvenir. Then he thought about the hole in his shoulder and scowled.  It hurt like a wicked bitch, and the whisky wasn’t doing enough to take the edge off the pain. Stefan gathered the bandages and a mostly-clean shirt, wiping the blood off his stomach and chest before fixing one of the adhesive bandages over the wound.  It had mostly stopped bleeding now, but he didn’t want it showing through his clothes or getting infected. They’d swiped some supplies from a pharmacy a few miles back, but the stronger medicine and antibiotics were kept behind the counter where they couldn’t be reached easily.  Stefan was sure he could use his teleportation to get in and out again without setting off alarms, but Tonya didn’t want anyone to catch him on camera doing it. Her own magic was in concealment, and she could say the sky was purple and make someone believe her, but it wasn’t strong enough to talk a suspicious pharmacy tech into parting with expensive and dangerous drugs.  

Two years on the run, and they still hadn’t outdistanced Nathan’s people.  Stefan was getting tired of moving around, tired of being in pain all the time, and tired of not having any friends.  Tonya had nearly ripped his head off the last time she caught him talking to a girl, though, and Stefan wasn’t stupid enough to try it when he was weak and injured. Strangers asked too many questions, pushed too hard at their fake identities, and it wasn’t always obvious who had magic and who didn’t – until they unleashed it on the two of them.  Stefan was beginning to rethink how wise it had been to leave Stuart and the rest of the Hatfords behind them, but his mother hadn’t wanted to do anything so obvious and drag her family into what might end up in war between the two factions. As a shadow daughter, his mother was a valuable asset, and Stefan wondered why he couldn’t have gotten some of her abilities instead of the uselessness of flashing himself from place to place.  He couldn’t even take her with him, even though she could use her magic to conceal him and change his coloring. Flashing on the court during exy was strictly forbidden, and there had been runes carved into the walls when he’d played little league that would prevent anyone from using magic during a game – children especially had very little control over their powers, and it wouldn’t do them any good to keep it a secret from the rest of the world only to give themselves away over a  _ sport  _ – so it was a completely useless talent.  

There was a dull ache in his chest that flared up every now and again, but he couldn’t figure out what the source was.  Whisky didn’t help, and it only made him feel hollow when it happened, but his mother had nearly slapped him the first time he told her about it, and he was reluctant to bring up anything that would anger her now.  She watched him closely, though, and he was sure she knew something was up. She bandaged her ragged stitches and took another long pull on the whisky before handing the bottle back to him. 

“Finish it off and we’ll get rid of the rest,” she told him.  “We’ll have to move soon, we’re too close to where they found us to stay much longer.” 

Stefan chugged the rest of the whisky, which drowned out the hollow ache in his chest with an alcohol-fueled warmth and the pain of his latest wound faded to a dull throb as the whisky worked its way through his blood.  The two of them emptied out their bags of the clothing they’d been wearing, although Stefan held onto the binder and his medical and personal supplies. Deodorant wasn’t difficult to lift from the store, but he didn’t like the European brands and was determined to hold onto his last stick of Teen Spirit for Boys as long as he could.  He was also wary of leaving his toothbrush behind, considering his DNA was all over it, and left it where it was. They found a barrel fire used by some of the homeless population with no one around, and used it to get rid of their blood-soaked clothing. Burning cotton and blood was one of the worst smells Stefan had ever encountered.  

“I’ll be Sarah, and you’re Christian, do you understand?” Tonya – Sarah – said to him.  He nodded, and repeated the names back to himself. He thought up enough of a backstory for Christian to get him through to the next name, told Sarah, and listened to her new story until he was sure he’d left Stefan behind in the barrel.  They hotwired an unlocked car a few blocks down, then drove until they reached a new town. Sarah took him to a second-hand shop where they started acquiring new clothes, and Christian sighed, wishing he had a normal life. 


	3. Unchaining

Tilda Minyard and her son Aaron looked like strangers to Andrew when they greeted him in the visitors section of the juvenile detention facility he’d landed himself in almost three years ago.  Superficially, Aaron looked just like Andrew – his hair was a little longer, since Andrew’s had been buzzed short, and his face was a little rounder – but his expression said  _ hunted _ and his posture was defensive.  Tilda was wearing her blonde hair up in a sloppy bun, and her eyes were bloodshot.  Andrew didn’t want to have anything to do with her, especially once he’d found out she’d given him up, but not Aaron.  And Aaron’s reintroduction to his life had resulted in him ruining the one good thing he’d ever found in order to keep his mysterious brother safe.  Fear and panic pulsed through the warmth in his chest, and it was stirring him up, chipping away at the apathy he wore so no one would know he could be gotten to.  

When he drew even with the pair of them, Tilda reached out to him and Aaron flinched.   _ Interesting, _ Andrew thought.  Apparently his brother hadn’t come through life unscathed after all.  Andrew accepted the stiff hug Tilda bestowed on him, but kept his hands at his sides.  She released him an uncomfortable moment later when she realized he wasn’t hugging her back.  

“Andrew,” she said.  “It’s so good to see you!” 

The lie was a physical thing in her voice.  Andrew scowled. “Right,” he said, and nothing else.  Tilda looked around awkwardly. 

“So I have the adoption papers here, all signed and ready to go,” she told him next, and this was true but there was a hesitancy to her that told Andrew she wasn’t happy with the situation.  Then he considered the absurdity of his own mother having to formally adopt him, and crossed his arms in front of his chest. 

“Great,” he said flatly.  “Are we leaving any time this week?” 

Tilda deflated.  “We’re moving to South Carolina,” she told him – again.  She’d reminded him of their upcoming move three times in the last two days, and Andrew was almost certain she was either an alcoholic or some kind of druggie.  He wasn’t sure which option was worse. This close, he could see signs of addiction in his brother, too – the slight twitch around his eyes, the long sleeves despite the California heat, and the slightly glazed look he wore – and scowled at Tilda.  Higgins hadn’t said anything about drug use. If he’d known, which in hindsight, might be the case. Higgins had his hands full trying to be a hero, and a blindspot when it came to families. 

“I know,” Andrew told her.  Pain rocked through him, and Andrew clamped down on the feelings before they could show on his face.  Something drew Aaron’s attention to him at last, however, and his twin was watching him curiously. Tilda laughed nervously, and hurried over to the officer at the desk, asking about paperwork.  Aaron’s curious stare didn’t abate. “I’m not that interesting,” Andrew told him. “Not when you’ve been seeing my face in your mirror your whole life.” 

Aaron flinched again.  “What’s hurting you?” he asked, and for the first time, his expression was something other than distant.  His voice was almost fierce. 

“Nothing,” Andrew told him truthfully.  He wasn’t being the one hurt – he worried about Nathaniel, he seriously did, but he’d never seen the boy after the night he’d shared his important secret – his  _ soul, _ he said, and Andrew could still hear his voice in memory – and had no idea where he was.  Andrew was certain he was still alive, but apparently going through a meat-grinder, if the emotions flashing through the warmth were any indication.  

“Don’t lie to me,” Aaron said, insistently.  “I can feel it in you.”

Andrew blinked at his twin.  “What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“I,” Aaron began, but then Tilda scurried back over to the two of them and he fell silent.  Andrew looked between them and realized what the problem was. Mommy Dearest apparently had a bit of a hands-on issue.  Andrew had dealt with enough people like that in his life to understand why Aaron was acting the way he was, although understanding didn’t make it any easier to see.  Bad enough that he dealt with whatever Nathaniel had going on. 

“We’re good to go, boys,” Tilda said with false brightness.  Andrew watched her from the corner of his eye as the three of them left the facility, and began to think. 

 

*

 

Luther Hemmick was a stern and fierce giant of a man.  He clung to his beliefs fervently, and had no patience with anyone who didn’t fit into his patterns.  Andrew nearly laughed out loud when Luther tried telling him his son, and Andrew’s cousin, was at  _ summer camp. _  The lie was so strong it was almost physical.  

“I don’t like being lied to,” Andrew told him.  Luther scowled, while his petite wife Maria chattered happily to Tilda in the background.  

“He is at a Christian summer camp,” Luther insisted.  Truth warred with lies, and Andrew took it to mean that Luther had told himself that so often that he was beginning to believe it.  “Nicholas will be returning in two weeks, but then he will be spending a semester in Europe for one of his classes. You will not have to worry about him in this house.” 

It wasn’t Nicholas Andrew was concerned about.  Aaron had told him ‘Nicky’ was outgoing and full of joy, which didn’t sound like someone who would be creeping into his bedroom at night, whether Nicky was gay or not.  Luther, on the other hand, was so repressed that Andrew could barely stand to spend five minutes with him. He was hiding something awful, so horrible he couldn’t admit it to himself, and Andrew couldn’t get a handle on it.  All he could sense from what Luther did say was that it was buried deep. 

“We will be sitting down to dinner in half an hour,” Luther said, when Andrew’s silence stretched.  He all but fled the room, and Andrew went upstairs. Tilda had the guest room, so he and Aaron were sharing Nicky’s currently-unused bedroom while they were there.  Tilda hadn’t gotten a job yet, and Andrew was beginning to think she wasn’t going to do anything useful with her life but drink, borrow money from her hyper-religious brother for drugs, and smack Aaron around.  She was terrified of Andrew for some reason – the time spent in juvie, the fact that he didn’t bother to hide his disdain for her, or something else, he couldn’t tell – and rarely even spoke to him, but Aaron was breaking down under her increasingly heavy hand.  

They’d been in the Hemmick’s house for three months – Nicky hadn’t bothered coming back, had stayed with friends in the time between his ‘summer camp’ and leaving for Germany on exchange – when Andrew finally lost patience with their situation.  Luther lied about everything from the time of day on up, and Maria was so in love with – or cowed by – her husband that she didn’t dare to do so much as disagree with him. Tilda was an increasing problem. Aaron was taking her drugs – Xanax, Andrew thought, but he wasn’t sure, she’d been through so many prescriptions in the last three months that he’d actually lost count – and he was losing weight and hanging around the school thugs.  He was on the high school exy team, but couldn’t play to save his life, especially when he was high. Andrew had joined to keep an eye on him, but put in minimal effort. Andrew found his moment after practice one afternoon, and pinned Aaron against the lockers. 

“Make a deal with me,” he said.  “I’m going to keep protecting you, but you have to give me something back.” 

Aaron scoffed.  “What the hell do you mean ‘keep’ protecting me?”  He gestured at their current situation. Andrew let him go, but didn’t move out of his space. 

“Just what I said.”  The less Aaron knew about what he’d done, the better.  “Will you?” 

Aaron was hungover, as clean of drugs as he ever got these days, and exhausted from practicing a high-impact sport.  He gave in without arguing. “I’ll deal with you,” he said. “What do you want?” 

Andrew didn’t have to think about it.  “Shut the losers out of your life,” he said.  “I’ll be there for you, but only if you’re there for me.  Quit running around with drug addicts and boozers.” 

From the look on his face, Aaron hadn’t been expecting that.  “Okay,” he said at last. “Just us?”

“Just us,” Andrew said.  He stepped away and let Aaron finish pulling his armor off.  Andrew had a list in his head about what the next steps were – getting rid of Tilda and her abuse, getting them out of Luther’s toxic household, and getting Aaron clean of the bullshit Tilda was feeding him on a regular basis – but he wasn’t sure how to go about getting started.  Getting Aaron to agree to deal with him alone was a good start, he decided. He was wondering about the best ways to make someone ‘accidentally’ overdose on drugs without getting his fingerprints all over everything when grief spiked through him, stronger than anything he’d ever felt before.  Staggering, Andrew grabbed the edge of the shower stall to keep himself on his feet. 

“What the hell?”  Aaron came running.  Andrew could see him standing on the other side of the curtain, debating on whether to barge in or not.  “Andrew, what the fuck is going on with you?” 

_ I’m hiding some kid’s soul, _ he thought, and nearly laughed at how ridiculous it sounded.  “Nothing,” he said aloud, gritting his teeth against the wave of emotions.  Grief, terror, pain, loss. Something serious had happened this time. He tamped down on it and pulled himself straight to finish his shower.  He dressed before leaving the stall, and found Aaron waiting for him, looking as serious as he could anymore. 

“Quit lying to me,” Aaron demanded.  “You  _ just _ said I should be here for you, so tell me what’s going on.” 

“I don’t break my promises,” Andrew told him flatly.  “This has nothing to do with you.” Aaron’s hands curled into fists at his side.  

“It’s  _ hurting you, _ ” Aaron ground out.  “I can  _ feel it. _  Why?  What is it?” 

Aaron had almost stopped talking about his gift, and Andrew had begun wondering if he’d killed it off entirely with the drugs, or if he had figured out that Luther couldn’t stand to hear about anything Other.  The man barely acknowledged the existence of magic in the world, even going so far as to shut the TV off during the news broadcasts he watched whenever they brought it up. Not everyone had a talent or gift, and there were varying levels of skill and power in those that did, but Luther insisted the whole thing was a satanic cult.  

“You’ve said that before,” was all Andrew said.  “It’s nothing. Sometimes I actually feel things, you know.” 

“Not anymore,” Aaron said, his voice sharp.  “You think I can’t feel that, too? You’ve cut yourself off from everything except that weird bond you have with someone, but you won’t acknowledge what it is or even that you have it.”

He waited, but Andrew simply raised an eyebrow at him in silence until Aaron gave up with an inarticulate cry, stomping out into the parking lot where Tilda or Luther – most likely Luther – would be waiting to take them home now that practice was done and almost the whole team was already gone.  To his surprise, it was Tilda’s shoddy, twenty-year-old Toyota in the parking lot. Andrew climbed into the back seat without a word, but when they were halfway home and Tilda was swearing about the brake light coming on the dash and spending more money to get it fixed and what she was going to do without a car – 

It dawned on him what he could do to implement the next part of his plan.  

 

*

 

Alex watched the car burn with his mother’s body in the passenger seat, dry-eyed finally and worn out.  He had a second identity ready to go, but wasn’t quite ready to leave Alex behind yet. He waited through the night to see if the flames had attracted any attention, but no one came.  The sun was rising over the horizon when he pulled the remains of his mother out of the car and laid them in the hole he’d dug in the sand. His chest hitched, but there were no more tears as he slowly covered her up.  

_ Stupid, stupid, stupid, _ he told himself.  He hadn’t even realized how badly she was wounded.  They were halfway through Oregon when he’d noticed her breathing coming erratically.  They should have stopped for medical attention as soon as they got out of Seattle, but she’d threatened him, and smacked him when he tried, and he couldn’t force her to do anything she didn’t want to do.  

“Dammit, mom,” he burst out, ragged.   _ Fuck you for leaving me.  _ _ What am I supposed to do now? _

He knew what she’d say to that – put more distance between himself and his father’s men.  He took apart their cell phones and threw the pieces into the ocean before checking his duffel and taking stock.  They’d left their food supplies behind in Washington, but he had his binder – it was thick with everything now that he’d added his mother’s to it, and he was going to have to find some more plastic sleeves in order to spread his money out a little thinner – and his clothes, and his papers.  He pulled out the remaining sleeve of information – a birth certificate, ID card, school transcripts, social security number, and everything else he’d need to officially become Neil Josten – and rifled through it to make sure it was there. He’d burned his Alex papers with the car, so all that was left was to put his new ID into his wallet, shuffle some money into his pocket where it’d be easy to reach without exposing his binder, and flashed himself to the nearest town.  It was wrenching to travel alone, to use his gift knowing that he was never going back for his mother, but he tamped down on the grief and found a sporting goods store attached to the mall he’d appeared next to. It wouldn’t open for several more hours, but he needed something to add to his binder, so he went in and raided their supply of magazines, filching some scissors and glue from the office before flashing out. He ended up along a highway, tucked his stolen magazines into his binder, and flashed again, looking for another town to stop in for some food and the space to fix his binder.  He found a little bed-and-breakfast on his next flash, and took advantage of it to get a room – the proper way, although he struggled with speaking to the clerk when she took down his information, he was so used to his mother doing everything for him – where he showered away the scent of smoke and blood from his skin. 

When he had food on the way to the room in the form of a delivered pizza, Neil settled down on the bed with his supplies and cut the magazines apart to get pictures and articles of Riko Moriyama and Kevin Day, the prodigal Sons of Exy.  He pasted them onto printer paper, slid it into his new pockets, and shuffled the contents of his binder out so that it wasn’t so obvious that he was using it to hide things between the sheets. That taken care of, he sat and stared into nothing until the knock at the door nearly knocked him off the bed.  Neil was used to being cautious, and it was second nature to peer through the peep hole before he even thought about touching the door. He didn’t recognize the small woman on the other side, dressed in a red and white uniform, and relaxed enough to open the door to pay her. In the back of his mind was the prospect of her being one of his father’s anyway – Nathan had the power to compel, if he wished – but she simply handed his change back, accepted the five dollar bill he pressed on her as a tip, and went away again.  As soon as she was out of sight, Neil locked the door, the deadbolt, and the chain, double checked that the windows were locked, and retreated back to the bed to eat in silence. 

 

*

 

He lost track of how many days he’d spent in the tiny B&B, but his neck was prickling with the warning that it had been too long and he needed to move.  He was so tired of running, though, and not even three or four days at a motel was enough to recharge him. The proprietors had been sweet people, genuine in their affection for a young man alone, and he was sure she wasn’t charging him the full amount of the room rates, but he was so grateful for the opportunity to just  _ stop _ for a while that he didn’t question it.  He did, however, feel a little guilty at sneaking out in the middle of the night, flashing himself away without bothering to check out.  He did leave the door open in case they looked at the room, so they would know they weren’t hiding a dead body. 

Neil traveled by flashing and walking until he saw his father’s name on the front page of the newspaper some weeks later.  

_ NATHAN WESNINSKI ARRESTED IN SEATTLE FOR MURDER! _

Neil’s heart dropped into his shoes and he felt cold all over.  He snatched the paper up, paid the clerk, and stumbled onto the sidewalk while he read the accompanying story.  

_ Nathan Wesninski of Baltimore, Maryland, was arrested last night in Seattle after police traced his presence there via a combination of a tracking spell and security footage from local stores.  The footage showed him attacking a woman believed to be his wife Mary, and blood found at the scene later revealed that Mary died sometime between the footage being recorded and Wesninski’s arrest.  It’s been two weeks since Mary was seen in the presence of her abusive husband, but the attack captured by CCTV and released to the police suggests that she was killed as a result of injuries sustained by her husband.  The Wesninski son and heir, Nathaniel, remains missing and presumed dead. _

Neil sagged down in relief.  His father was in prison, and he was still a mystery.  They hadn’t caught him on their cameras – they never did, although he couldn’t figure out why – and he was  _ safe. _  At least for a little while longer.  It was possible the rest of Nathan’s circle would be after him sooner or later, but they would be disorganized, thrown into confusion by Nathan’s arrest, and slow to come back.  

He was so tired of running.  All he needed now was a small town in the middle of nowhere, and he could stay and recharge for a couple months.  He found what he was looking for in the middle of Arizona, in a town called Millport barely big enough to have its own post office.  

 

*

 

Andrew knew some people would feel something for what he’d just done – actually, make that  _ most _ people would feel  _ something _ for what he’d done, be it rage or horror or grief – but Andrew himself just felt slightly numb.  Nathaniel’s emotions had been quiet lately, and Andrew was starting to worry about him. He wondered what would happen if he’d died in the car with Tilda, or if Nathaniel had died and left only the burning spark of his soul behind.  He wondered what would happen to Nathaniel if he did die without his soul. Would it leave? How had he given it to Andrew in the first place? Andrew poked and prodded at it while he spent time in the hospital. The airbag deploying hadn’t factored into his plans, and he’d gotten two black eyes and a nice concussion for his troubles.  The next step was to get them out of Luther’s house, but it would be months before they’d find out if they were able to emancipate themselves, or if they’d have to have a guardian for the remaining year and a half until they turned eighteen. Andrew couldn’t wait another year and a half – Luther was almost as bad as Tilda had been, for all that his abuse was verbal instead of physical.  

Lying in the hospital bed, Andrew focused on the spark in his chest.  It flared warmly at his attention, and he felt a tug at his mind. Turning towards it made the spark burn hotter.   _ Is he there? _ Andrew wondered.  He got a feeling of distance, and wondered which direction it was.  His phone had been confiscated with the rest of his clothes, to be returned when he checked out, he assumed, so he stopped the next nurse who came in to check on him.  

“Which direction is that?” he asked, pointing left.  She startled momentarily, then pulled her own phone from the pocket of her green scrub top.  

“West,” she told him.  “How are you feeling?” 

Andrew rolled his eyes and regretted it immediately as his headache spiked.  “Like I got hit in the face with an airbag,” he said. She flashed him a quick grin at the heavy sarcasm. 

“Headache?  I’ll bring you some Tylenol.” 

Now that he had his answer, he contemplated it.  South Carolina was on the east coast, which meant  _ everything _ was west of him.  He poked at the spark again.   _ California? _

It dimmed briefly, and Andrew was startled.   _ Are you answering me? _

It brightened.  This could be interesting.  


	4. Medicated

Andrew had narrowed the location of his wayward soulmate to Arizona, but couldn’t get anything more specific until he got ahold of a map.  The last thing he wanted to clutter his brain up with was every town in the state, but he figured it would be worth it if he managed to find Nathaniel at long last – it had been ten years, almost exactly – and ask him what the hell he’d been doing with his life.  Upon realizing what he was thinking, Andrew scoffed to himself. 

 

There was someone new in the hospital room when he woke up the next morning, a tall, grinning man with dark skin and smiling eyes.  

“Hi there!” he said, exuberant.  “I’m your cousin Nicky. You’re Andrew, right?  It’s nice to finally meet you.” 

Andrew blinked slowly at him.  There was no trace of any lies in his voice, which was surprisingly startling.  He really  _ was _ happy to meet Andrew.  “Hi,” Andrew said stiffly.  “What are you doing here?” 

Nicky’s cheerful expression fell away, revealing someone haunted and unhappy.  It reminded Andrew of the expression Nathaniel wore when he spoke of his father.  Andrew suddenly understood. Before he could say anything, Nicky was answering. “Well, Aunt Tilda’s funeral is in two days,” he said.  

“I didn’t think you’d come,” Andrew told him truthfully.  Luther avoided talking about his son at all costs, but he’d reluctantly shared the fact that Nicky was intending to transfer to the German school when his exchange was over.  Because he was of legal age, Nicky didn’t need his parent’s permission to effect the transfer. “She’s not worth grieving.” 

“Jesus, Andrew, she’s my  _ aunt. _ ”  Nicky looked baffled at his apathy.  “She’s your  _ mother _ , you don’t feel bad at all?” 

Andrew debated on whether to tell Nicky he wasn’t capable of feeling bad anymore, and that it had been worth unhooking the brake lines to get her out of his life, but they were still in a hospital room and there were nurses, aides, and doctors scurrying around just outside the flimsy door.  “No,” he said instead. “Are you going back after?” 

Nicky threw himself into the ugly green chair situated next to the hospital bed with a gusty sigh.  “I want to,” he said. “But Aaron told me about your situation.” 

Andrew stiffened.  Nicky appeared to not notice, fiddling with the string of his hoodie.  “What situation?” Meaning,  _ What do you know? _

“You can’t go out on your own yet,” Nicky said, stating the obvious.  “And Aaron doesn’t want to stay with my dad. He doesn’t want you to go back into foster care –”

Which was never an option, Andrew was  _ never _ going into another strange family’s home again – 

“–And he doesn’t want to do it, himself, so you guys need a place to stay, so I guess I’m going to stay here and become your guardian!”  He brightened as he spoke until he was grinning again. Under the weight of Andrew’s heavy stare, the cheerful smile broke down in pieces until Nicky was slumped in the chair, pulling on the drawstring.  “Unless you don’t want me to,” he said. “But Aaron was okay with it.” 

Andrew considered everything rapidly.  This took care of getting out of Luther’s house, but it meant going into a strange home with a stranger.  The fact of Nicky being family didn’t make much of a difference; Tilda wasn’t worth the wood they buried her in, and Luther would kick both Andrew and Aaron out the moment he realized they were gifted.  They had to do something. “You’ll do,” Andrew said. Nicky brightened again immediately. 

“Alright!  There’s a house downtown that I’ve been looking at, not too expensive, and the bank is willing to work with me on it because the manager goes to church with my dad.  We’ll have to figure out furniture and everything, but it’s got three bedrooms, and there’ll be plenty of space for us. Plus you and Aaron won’t have to switch schools or anything, so –”

“Are you gifted?” Andrew cut him off.  Nicky fell silent so quickly that Andrew wondered if his gift was to lose his voice when he was asked that question.  The silence between them stretched, and Nicky’s skin turned grey. 

“You can’t tell my dad,” he whispered.  “But I am, a little. I don’t know what it’s good for.  I can barely use it.” 

Andrew gestured impatiently.  “What?” 

“I can feel…emotions?” Nicky looked at him as if he was seeking reassurance.  “You’re weird, though, there’s like…an echo in you.” 

_ Great, _ Andrew thought.   _ Everyone can feel Nathaniel’s soul inside me.  I wonder what good it does to hide it for him if everyone can just look at me and know. _  The spark flickered low once, disagreeing with his assessment.  Andrew turned his attention inwards on it.  _ Everyone can’t? _  It agreed brightly.  Nicky was eyeing him curiously.  Andrew wished the thing could actually speak to him, although it was interesting to note that it was responding to questions.   _ Are souls sentient? _  It brightened again, a quick flare of positivity.  

“Okay,  _ what _ are you doing?” Nicky burst out.  “That’s so weird!” 

“I can’t tell you,” Andrew said immediately.  “Don’t worry about it.” 

Nicky deflated, but then bounced back.  “So I’m guessing you have some kind of talent, too?  Is it like Aaron’s?”

Andrew realized, after spending a split second thinking about it, that he didn’t actually know what Aaron’s talent was.  He’d referred to Andrew’s pain, and feeling Andrew’s lack of emotion as well as Nathaniel’s soul spark, much like Nicky had, but he had no way of knowing if they were the same gifts.  He wondered why he’d gotten stuck with something as useless as lie detecting when it seemed like everyone else in his family had some sort of weird empathy. The soul spark dimmed briefly, disagreeing with him.   _ What now? _  He parsed through his thoughts.  _ Lie detecting is useless, _ he said.  The spark disagreed.   _ Lie detecting is useful? _  It brightened.   _ Fuck you. _  It dimmed low, guttering, and then burst back.   _ It’s never done me any good, _ he told the spark.  It brightened in agreement, which was frustrating.   _ You mean it will do me good later? _  It brightened again.   _ Fuck you, seriously. _  This time, there was no reaction from the spark.  Andrew realized Nicky was staring at him with his head cocked to one side, aware of the silent exchange but not understanding it.  “What?” 

“I asked what your talent was,” Nicky said slowly.  

“Lie detecting.  It’s useless.” The damn spark dimmed in disagreement, but this time Andrew ignored it.  Nicky was thrilled. 

“What, seriously?  You can – wait, how does it work?” 

“I hear the lie in your voice,” Andrew told him.  “I don’t know.” 

“So if I told you my name was Christian,” Nicky said. 

“I already know your name is Nicky.” 

“My middle name is Christian.” 

The lie was lying along the edges of his words.  “Wrong.” 

Nicky was ecstatic.  “My favorite color is pink,” he said.

“Lie,” Andrew told him.  “And I’m not doing this for your entertainment.  What’s Aaron’s gift?” 

This threw Nicky off his stride.  “Healing. How do you not know that?” 

Andrew shrugged.  “He never told me.”  Nicky was telling the truth, though.  

“My favorite color is purple,” he said after a beat.  This time Andrew could hear the truth in it, and filed the information away as completely useless.  “Aaron told me he can feel where someone is in pain, and he can take it away. I had this horrible paper cut right between my fingers and he touched my hand and the paper cut disappeared.  It was incredible!” This was also true, and this time Andrew took note of it as useful information. He wondered if Aaron could take his own pain away, and whether he could come in and get rid of the bruises around Andrew’s eyes.  The spark in his chest burned brightly for a moment, and then Nicky was staring at him with an open mouth and wide eyes. 

“What?” Andrew snapped, and wondered how he was going to get through the next year and a half of Nicky’s idiocy.  

“You can heal too?” he asked, dumbfounded.  Andrew scowled. 

“No,” he said, and heard the lie in his own voice.  It took him aback for a long moment, and then he turned his attention back to the spark.   _ What did you do? _  It dimmed, but there was no real response.  Andrew rolled his eyes.  _ Did you do that? _  It dimmed again, refuting the statement.   _ I can heal? _  It brightened.   _ Is it like my brother’s gift? _  Dim.  

“Okay, what the hell are you  _ doing _ ?” Nicky demanded.  “Your echo is getting louder and –” he cut himself off and flinched back.  “Ow,” he whimpered. 

_ Did you do that? _ Andrew asked again.  This time the spark brightened.  “Huh,” Andrew said, and settled back into the thin mattress of the hospital bed. 

 

It turned out that living with Nicky wasn’t as awful as Andrew had feared, especially after his cousin watched him callously lock his own twin brother in the bathroom for nearly a month to forcibly get him over his various addictions.  It seemed to put the fear of Andrew in him, and after Aaron emerged bitter, angry, and free of foreign substances, the three of them settled into a routine. Exy continued to be a waste of time, but Aaron enjoyed it so Andrew kept up with it in order to make sure Aaron wasn’t falling back into bad habits.  Andrew wasn’t happy, but he could feel Nathaniel to the west of him, and wherever he was, there were no more flashes of strong emotion or pain from him. It was almost a relief. Nathaniel’s stronger emotions had been coming at him for over ten years, and something in Andrew pushed at him to find the younger boy who’d given over his  _ soul _ and keep him safe.  The school year passed uneventfully, although Nicky was too interested in Andrew’s echo, and in celebrating every holiday on the calendar in the most extravagant way imaginable, but for the most part, Andrew was … content.  He’d never been happy, and he wasn’t expecting to ever feel that way about anything, but he was content with his life and the way things were. It got better when Nicky started working at a nightclub, getting both his younger cousins in to clean and maintain the club when it was closed, and Andrew quickly talked his way into getting work in the kitchen.  They hired another bartender, Roland, at roughly the same time, and Andrew was drawn to him. Roland was tall, good looking, and clearly returned Andrew’s interest. Having come to terms with his sexuality – despite Nicky’s exuberant pride – Andrew met up with him during their mutual break and decided to have it out with him. 

“I need someone who can follow rules,” Andrew told him bluntly.  “I don’t want to be touched, ever. Unless I give my explicit permission.” 

Roland was silent for so long that Andrew thought he was thinking about the nicest way to tell Andrew to fuck off, and prepared himself to be let down.  “Seems fair,” he said, startling Andrew. “Something nasty in your past, huh? Everybody’s got something. And waiting for permission is easier to deal with than some weird kinky fetish.” His eyes gleamed with amusement.  “You don’t have any weird, kinky fetishes, do you?” 

Andrew shot him a dirty look, and went to him.  His hand trembled when he laid it against the broad expanse of Roland’s chest, and he twisted his fingers in the material of Roland’s t-shirt to mask it.  He brushed a thumb over Roland’s nipple, and was pleased by the short gasp it elicited.  _ I can do this, _ he told himself.  The spark in his chest brightened with agreement.  

 

*****

Graduation was approaching swiftly, and Andrew had no idea what he was going to do with himself afterwards.  He was old enough now to serve alcohol, even if he couldn’t drink it legally, and Roland had started training him as a bartender.  After Nicky picked up a second job at an ice cream parlor, he’d started bringing home little packets he called cracker dust, and Aaron had latched onto the party drug like he needed it to survive.  Since it wasn’t addictive or dangerous, Andrew allowed him the vice. Roland revealed that he sold drugs out of the bar, too, but only to people who knew what to ask for. Andrew was out back on break with him, and took a drag on his cigarette, blowing smoke out thoughtfully.  

“If I ever find out you’re dealing to my brother, I will kill you,” he said.  Roland put both hands up defensively. 

“I wouldn’t!  Anyone else is fair game, though,” he added.  Andrew raised an eyebrow. 

“You mean if I asked you to drug someone, you’d do it?”

“Andrew, I’d do anything for you,” Roland said with exaggerated emotion. Andrew scoffed, but filed the information away.  Flicking the cigarette onto the ground, he pulled Roland close and didn’t waste any time slipping his hand down the older man’s pants.

 

Nearly a week after that conversation, Andrew was on shift with Roland again, learning how to make a ridiculously complicated drink with the unassuming name Ramos Gin Fizz, when one of the other bartenders burst in through the staff door and yelled that Nicky was being killed in their back alley.  

Later, Andrew wasn’t able to remember how he got there, or what he did – everything from seeing the staff door swing out through the cops putting him in handcuffs was an indistinct blur.  Nicky was hospitalized, and Andrew was jailed for assault. He took up space in the cell for almost a week before the lawyer he’d been assigned returned with a deal. 

“It looks bad, you realize,” the man said.  Andrew couldn’t be bothered to keep his name in memory, and rarely deigned to speak to him.  “You bounced from foster home to foster home, got locked up in juvie, and now aggravated assault –”

“They were going to kill my cousin,” Andrew pointed out.  “It was four on one.” The lawyer looked him up and down, sighing heavily. 

“You don’t look like much, but you nearly killed four people,” he said in an aggrieved voice.  “That does not look good with your record,” he reiterated. “DA wants you in jail for a couple years, hoping it’ll cool you down a bit, but I have a bargain to offer you instead.” 

Years of this ceaseless boredom in a jail cell, letting his cousin and brother roam around unchecked and undefended, or taking the deal, Andrew considered.  It was no contest. “I accept.” 

This threw the lawyer off his stride, and he gaped for a moment before gathering his wits.  “You don’t even know what it is,” he said. 

“Does it keep me out of jail?” 

He nodded. 

“Then I accept.  What’s the deal?” 

Three years of mandatory counseling sessions and an experimental drug that would keep him from getting too aggressive.  It didn’t sound ideal, but it certainly beat the alternative, and Andrew had no intention of allowing himself to rot in jail, not after getting a taste of institutions in juvie and more recently in the last week of incarceration.  He signed the paperwork, met with a probation officer, and was released that day with a prescription. Nicky picked him up, looking somber and unhappy, but no worse for the wear. 

“It’s not right,” Nicky burst out when they were halfway home.  “You shouldn’t have to –”

Andrew held up a hand to silence him, and looked out the window.   _ Is this going to be okay? _ he asked the spark in his chest.  It flickered for a moment, and then brightened.  “I don’t care,” he told Nicky. “Here, Walgreens, I need to get this filled today or I’ll be arrested again.” 

Nicky was uncharacteristically morose while Andrew discussed the details of his prescription with the pharmacist.  It took several hours because they had to wait for another pharmacist to deliver the medication from two towns over, but when it was done, Andrew was staring an unassuming brown bottle down.  He popped the bottle open, shook one of the pills into his hand, and tossed it back, swallowing it down. It took less than half an hour before Andrew felt the effects. He wanted to run around and laugh, and talk – he could talk to Nicky for _ hours _ now, about everything he’d ever thought about – except the secret of Nathaniel’s soul, tucked safely into his chest since he was a child, and the first promise he’d ever made, he’d never share that, nope, that was going with him to his grave – because he felt  _ wonderful _ and everything was so bright and fantastic, and these drugs were the best idea anyone had ever had.  He laughed for an hour when they got a call from David Wymack later that night, offering Andrew, his brother, and even his cousin a sports scholarship to Palmetto if they joined the exy team that spring.

 

It was less than a week when Andrew discovered that the happy pills were addictive, made him violently ill if his missed a dose, and were interfering with his truth-sensing.  

 

Neil wandered through Arizona for the better part of a year before he finally decided to settle in Millport.  It was slightly bigger than the last town he spent time in, but it wasn’t as large as Phoenix, and there was a half-incomplete housing development on the edges of an elderly residential community where he could stay and not draw too much attention to himself.  He agonized for days over the decision of whether to enroll in school or not, and then finally decided that it would be less noticeable if he was blending into the student body than if he was too clearly a teenager outside the confines of established routine. Neil broke into the locker room around midnight and hurriedly stripped out of his clothes to shower.  His mother would kill him if she knew what he was up to, but it had been two months and there was no new news regarding his father. Checking the news websites at the local library, Neil kept himself up to date on things happening in Washington, and the only thing that had happened so far was the arrest of Patrick DiMaccio alongside his father. Plank and the Malcolms continued to evade police, but Neil was hopeful that they’d be too busy keeping themselves out of trouble to come looking for him.  He’d enrolled at the high school, and would be starting in a week. It was strange to feel so at home in a town he could barely navigate, despite the size, but something in him settled at the idea of just not moving for a while. He kept his duffel bag with him at all times, always prepared to leave at a moment’s notice, but it was just  _ nice _ to not  _ have _ to for once.  

  
  


His mother would definitely have killed him by now for letting his guard down so completely, for having stopped in one place long enough to know the names of the cashiers at the Kwik-Mart, and for his classmates to become familiar with him.  She would have dragged it out for his decision to join the exy team. Neil couldn’t find it in him to be too unhappy, because it felt like he came alive on the court. As soon as he passed through the spelled plastic walls, it was like he became someone new, someone confident and snarky and quick.  Someone  _ talented. _  Someone  _ worth _ something.  Just breathing in the air on the court was enough to set his heart racing.  Actually playing was close to bliss. Neil had worked his way up from a substitute at the beginning of the year to starting striker by the time the spring season rolled around.  The team was mismatched at best, and none of them would ever go pro, but Neil was  _ whole _ while he played, and his excitement had managed to bleed over to the others.  Hernandez, the coach and part time PE teacher, was thrilled with the improvement his team had made.  He’d thanked Neil for being good enough to drag the rest of the team up with him before the Christmas break, and Neil didn’t know what to do with the implications.  

“They dragged themselves up,” he said cautiously.  

Hernandez shook his head and smiled broadly.  “Only after you joined,” he said, but he knew enough about Neil – knew he was sleeping in the locker rooms five nights out of seven, knew his parents were never around – not to push the issue. Being  _ known _ was new and terrifying, and Neil had promised himself to move on after graduation.  He had enough money for another set of papers, forged IDs and background, and one of his mother’s contacts was in Nevada, which wasn’t too far away, all things considered.  As soon as he was done with school, he’d flash over and start a new life. He thought he wanted to go east, but he was reluctant to get too close to Maryland.  _ Georgia should be nice in the summer, _ he decided.  

 

It was the Millport Dingos last game – they were getting their asses handed to them by the opposing team from Mesa, they weren’t going to make it to the finals this season – and Neil had pushed himself harder than ever to even out the score and leave Millport remembering him as someone who had been good at the game.  It didn’t help that Hernandez had him out for the entire second half even after he’d been starting striker for the first. It was perilously close to a full game, and Neil felt like his legs had been replaced by jello at the end of it. Hernandez approached him after the two teams decamped to the locker rooms, and asked him to stick around a little longer.  Wary, exhausted, and feeling oddly anxious, Neil reluctantly agreed, and flopped onto the bench in the locker room to wait for everyone else to clear out before he showered. The hollow feeling in his chest was a physical presence, but it kept him from falling asleep while he tried to breathe around the feeling that he was being sucked into a black hole inside his own body.  The sounds from the rest of the team faded away, and Neil took advantage of the lull to get his shower in, slipping out of his gear and moving quickly before anyone came looking for him. He was dressed and toweling his hair off when Hernandez called for him. 

“You did good, kid,” Hernandez said.  “Fantastic game tonight. That’s why I wanted to talk to you tonight, actually.  Have you ever thought about continuing with an exy career?” 

The black hole was threatening to swallow him whole.  Neil’s entire body seized up at the thought of it. Playing professionally was an idle daydream, something to pass the time on the road, and nothing else.  He  _ yearned _ for it.  It was nothing he could have.  “No,” he said, flatly. 

“Why the hell not?”  The voice was unfamiliar, gruff, and male.  Panic broke through the thunderous numbness and Neil waited in terror to see which of his father’s men had finally caught up to him.  The stranger, when he came around the corner, was no one Neil had ever seen before. “You’re a damn good striker. My name is David Wymack,” he said, and the relief nearly took Neil to his knees.  

“Palmetto Foxes,” he murmured through numb lips.  

“I see our reputation precedes us,” Wymack said dryly.  “Here’s the deal. Full ride scholarship for five years to Palmetto, meals, accommodation, and allowance included, for you to come be my new striker sub.” 

Neil seized up again.  He’d been in Millport for almost a full year, and there had been no sign of his father or associates, but he’d been counting on Millport being small and unimportant enough to be overlooked.  An NCAA Class I Exy team was an entirely different story. The thought of  _ five years _ in one place roiled in his stomach and nearly made him sick, and he wasn’t even thinking about the fact that college level sports were televised.  He wanted it so badly he could almost feel the exy stick in his hands. “No thank you,” he said. 

“I refuse,” Wymack said.  Neil stared at him in astonishment.  “You don’t get to turn me down when you play like that.  What’s stopping you? Parents?”

His brain was full of static, and his stomach full of acid.  His legs were still trembling from the aftershocks of sixty solid minutes of exy and he couldn’t think of the right words to say to make Wymack leave him alone.  Wymack seemed to sense that he’d thrown Neil for a loop, because he shuffled over slowly and extended a sheaf of paperwork. “Look, Neil, just take a look at the contract, okay?  You have some time to think about it, but you’ve got no reason to turn me down, and every reason to come with me when you graduate. If your parents are an issue, I can talk to them, or we can smuggle you out of here if you need that, but I need a striker, and you’re the only one who can fill out my lineup.” 

Neil grasped the papers with hands that didn’t seem to belong to him, and absently shoved them into his duffel bag.  

“I’m gonna talk to Hernandez about your options, but promise me you’ll think about it, okay?”  Wymack turned away, and Neil snatched up his duffel. He had to leave,  _ now. _  He tried flashing, and found his power throttled under the weight of the empty ache in his chest.  What his heart wanted was at odds with what his brain knew, and he started running instead, pushing his already overtaxed muscles to just get the hell away from Wymack and his impossible promises.  The blow came out of nowhere, slamming into his stomach and Neil dropped to the ground. A bright light built up in the air and blinded him. He felt hot all over, pins and needles pricking at his skin, and he looked up into the amused hazel eyes of his attacker.  

“Better luck next time,” said Andrew Minyard.  


End file.
